Project Super Serum: The Scientific Diary of Dr Arnim Zola
by ThomasNewtieGangster
Summary: I am testing a new product on them. A serum, not unlike the one the famed Dr. Erskine created, and I shall work it to perfection, to create a new kind of soldier. A weapon. The new fist of HYDRA. (Rated T for torture and some slightly disturbing images.)
1. March 2, 1944

**March 2, 1944**

Just recently, we acquired the large sum of several hundred American soldiers to go along with our other European stragglers. With them as workers, things have gone much quicker since their arrival, and our plans are very nearly completed. Only small amounts of construction are left, and soon, we shall be ready.

The soldiers do, however, protest, and many have refused to work for us. They say that they would never betray their country and their families and fellow soldiers, but what good shall it do them? Those who rebel we have beaten, and the numbers of those are many, but eventually, they succumb to the pain and work. Others do choose death, but that is of rare occurrence.

But a few of the fine, healthier, soldiers I am taking, one at a time, and I am testing a new product on them. A serum, not unlike the one the famed Dr. Erskine created, and I shall work it to perfection, to create a new kind of soldier. A weapon. The new fist of HYDRA.

A. Zola

 **A/N: I got this idea from the line in** **Captain America: The First Avenger** **by Falsworth: "There's an isolation ward in the factory. No one's ever come back from it." This told me that other men had been tested on, and that those men died. This is story delving more into the torturous processes that Zola May have used, and into Bucky's hoard of feels because I love doing that. Hope you like! More chapters soon to come!**


	2. March 7, 1944

**March 7, 1944 – Test Subject One**

I have brought in my first contestant. A strong, quiet young man — French maybe — though obviously weathered down by work. If all goes to plan, he shall forget the pain of labor, and a new strength shall be his.

I am merely doing one dose of the serum each day, administering twelve of said doses. I shall not put down the secret of the serum, for such information is not written and remember. It dies with the creator. But I do not plan on dying soon.

A. Zola

 **A/N: I know some (most) of these chapters are going to be very short. But this is (bear with me) Zola writing, not me, (LOL NO BUT BEAR WITH ME HERE) and he's not going to write a novel for each chapter. Just saying. However, I wrote most of this in advance, so there should be steady updates for a while. Thanks! Please review. I need to know what to fix. :)**


	3. March 9, 1944

**March 9, 1944 - Test Subject One**

The first two doses have been given. The subject took it well, for the most part. He did not scream much, but I fear in the future we may have to apply a sedative as well as the serum. He doesn't seem to have grown at all, but it is too soon to be looking for incredible, drastic changes of muscle. He is alive, breathing, and his vital signs are normal, except for a slight irregularity in breathing every so often. However, I am waiting eagerly for the strike of noon, as that is the scheduled time of the next administration.

I shall write more later, but now, the master calls.

A. Zola


	4. March 12, 1944

**March 12, 1944 – Test Subject One**

The serum has failed. Six hours after the fifth dosage, the subject began to thrash violently, and very nearly took down the test table. He had been screaming like one gone mad, and suddenly he coughed blood, gagged, and fell silent. He was indeed dead. It was quite a horrific sight, I must admit.

But even more devastating to me is the failure of the serum. I shall rework the genetic and chemical coding, and take blood samples from my deceased subject. I shall try again, and I will keep trying until I am successful. I shall not fail.

A. Zola


	5. March 15, 1944

**March 15, 1944 – Test Subject Two**

Testing has begun on my next subject. He is even more unwilling than the last one, struggling like a wild animal, and swearing profusely and spitting on my face. This does not improve my attitude toward him, and I honestly would not mind if he met an end not unlike his previous soldier subject. I started the testing with the injections, I watched to see how he would take it.

He has a horrible scream.

I have perfected the serum, and am quite sure that these results shall be much better than the previous ones. If not, I shall chose another rodent from the bunch and begin again.

A. Zola


	6. March 22, 1944

**March 22, 1944 – Test Subject Two**

A protest broke out today among the prisoners. It was violent protest, and a good dozen ended up dead or disintegrated. I admit I was not involved in stopping the fight, but I did, however, see a possible candidate for my serum, if the subject I am currently using does not survive. A young American soldier, I believe. He fought like a madman, but I could see, even from my distant post, that he was fatigued by his labors, but still he fought. That could be a good trait for the man I hope to create.

As for my current test subject, things are going beautifully so far. After my first catastrophic test, I have little room to hope, but while the subject lives, so does faith.

I have administered the seventh dose.

I haven't noticed any major changes in muscle size, but the washing is working. He howls like a pained dog when the process is started each time, but it's working slowly, but he is becoming more and more confused, and with the confusion comes submission, and with submission will come loyalty.

I must stop, as the master calls me again.

A. Zola


	7. March 23, 1944

**March 23, 1944 – Test Subject Two**

The subject has gone completely mad. I walked into the room and he began thrashing and snarling against the restraints. He screamed like an animal, and foamed at the mouth. It scared me so that I threw my briefcase at him, but it merely glanced off of him, and he struggled on, unfazed.

I was forced to euthanize him.

One quick dose from a air pistol injected needle, and he slowly quieted and slumped down. He was dead, but his eyes still looked madly into whatever universe he was staring into, and finally, I had to throw a blanket over him and flee.

Two experiments, failed. Though not entirely. I have learned what I needed to know, and I see now that the serum relies almost on as much on the subject as it does on the formula. The man I had first brought in was of a quiet disposition, and so he died in his own way, with spasms, a scream, and then silence. The second man was violent and very angry, and so he died that way. With a mad look and foaming jaw. I need a good man for the experiment — a survivor and a cold killer — and I already have my eye set on one.

I shall bring him in later, after one more experiment, just to make sure that my theories are correct. Because, of course, if I bring in a cold killer and a survivor, his death will most likely result in mine as well.

A. Zola


	8. March 26, 1944

**March 26, 1944 – Test Subject Three**

For my third test, I have picked a jovial young man. He was constantly joking and trying to lift everyone's spirits, especially after a hard day. I shall test it on him, to see if he dies with such a grin on his face.

He seemed cheery as we dragged him away, and even now, as I sit by him and write with the serum flowing in his veins, he is joking. Commenting sarcastically on the effects of the serum, and then laughing at his own jests. None of it makes sense, but he finds it amusing.

"Are you trying to get me to the moon?" he says. "Teleportation isn't a thing yet, ya know."

I am resisting the urge to slap him.

He screams long during washing process however, just like all the others, which gives me some comfort.

I just injected the third dose. He winces when it goes in, and grits his teeth to keep from shouting, but then he laughs through the pain, and asks me why I have such strange needles for stitching him up.

I guess he doesn't quite understand that I'm tearing him apart.

A. Zola


	9. April 3, 1944

**April 3, 1944 – Test Subject Three**

I have lost my patience with this wretch. He laughs too often. It's very distracting. I may have hit him today. _Gott verdammt!_

I am composing myself to the best of my ability. The eighth dose was just administered, and I can see his eyes beginning to dull. He smiles, but it's strained. He looks exhausted, and his voice is gravelly. He doesn't even try to hide the pain when I give him the injection now, but he still recovers himself quickly. Still, he jokes on.

I swear, I will backhand him.

A. Zola

 **-•-•-•-**

 **A/N: So how you liking the story? I don't mean to pry, but if you could leave me a review, if would really help. Thanks! :)**


	10. April 7, 1944

**April 7, 1944 – Test Subject Three**

He is losing his memory. He has to think for a full five minutes to remember his name, and his age is now a mystery to him. He hasn't grown, yet again, and he's fading quickly. He doesn't oke now; he just laughs quietly in his sleep, and then goes back into unconsciousness.

I have given him the last dose. He did not stir when I injected him with it, and he hasn't stirred since.

Now, I wait.

A. Zola


	11. April 9, 1944

**April 9, 1944 – Test Subject Three**

He is finally dead.

I was awoken at some ungodly hour of the morning to the sound of hysterical laughter. I rushed into the room, where the subject lay completely still, his back arched, cackling like a madman. I stood by a watched, fascinated, and he laughed every bit of air from his body. As his oxygen began to deplete, the subject started to wheeze, the jolts of laughter becoming further and further apart. His chuckles became pained, and I noticed a tear slip from his left eye. He turned blue in the face, and his very last breath, however small it was, was spent in insane joy.

My theory has been proven. If my conjecture about my next subject is true, then it is possible that it will work. Or I might die in the grip of a killer.

I am off. I am eager to resume my testing; I am on the verge of an amazing breakthrough.

A. Zola

-•-•-•-

 **A/N: Sorry if I'm making Zola too cynical and creepy, but I really hate him.**


	12. April 10, 1944

**April 10, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

I am absolutely elated. The testing is about to begin; I merely write as my assistants heave the subject into place. I shall not write down the language being used by this man, but he appears that he is both calm, not struggling or trying get free, but still seeming very ready to dismember everyone in the general vicinity. His eyes are cold as ice, and when he glares at me I almost fear him. He is sweating, and I can see him straining to breathe normally, but he voice is hard and cruel when he swears at me. Calm fury, and barely re

strained rage. Good aspects of an assassin.

He has been restrained, with little difficulty and much profanity, and I must postpone my writing. The testing must begin.

A. Zola

»»—-—-

1830 PM - Test Subject Four

I have given him the first injection of the serum. He glared at me utmost hatred the entire time I was preparing the serum, and from the time I slipped the needle into his vein and injected the chemicals, to after I pulled the needle out and turned to wash my hands. I can feel his cold eyes on my back now.

Soon I shall begin the washing, but first, I must rest. The days are long and wearisome for me, and I find little refuge or solitude.

I set down my pen and leave. I must retire for the night.

 **A/N: He added two parts for one day, so I put them into one chapter. Extra reading!**


	13. April 11, 1944

**April 11, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

The washing is commencing as I write. He groans loudly, repeating something over and over. I can't make it out. He grits his teeth, and tries to break out of the restraints.

It's almost fun, watching him try to free himself. If the serum works it's magic on his muscle mass, however, he probably could break through, and that could prove fatal. For me, anyway.

The only thing I find disturbing about him is that he keeps his violently blue eyes open all the while, trying to stay conscious, and he's staring right at me.

A. Zola


	14. April 13, 1944

**April 13, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

I've administered the third injection of the serum. I haven't noticed any muscle change, which is both worrisome and slightly expected.

The subject still makes a strange habit of staring at me as I experiment on him, but he doesn't say a word. He just stares. It's very unnerving, and with the dark rings of fatigue under his ice cold eyes, it's downright terrifying. But I can see also a nearly nano-sized sense of loss and despair that he's trying so hard to hide.

He knows no one can save him.

A. Zola

 **A/N: Just to clarify, Test Subject Four is indeed Bucky. Just so you know. Extra extra chapter because I want to have and even number of documents. OCD!**


	15. April 15, 1944

**April 15, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

Fifth injection administered. He seems to be losing strength, just like the rest. He still stares at me, but his eyes seem almost dead now. Now they're dead-cold, as if he has the eyes of a fresh corpse. He cries out in angry pain whenever I try to brainwash him, but it isn't working as well as I had hoped. He just takes it, and then repeats his name, number, and rank, which he can apparently still remember.

Poor fool. Those words won't keep me out.

A. Zola


	16. April 18, 1944

**April 18, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

Eighth injection administered.

He can barely move. His eyes are closed most of the time now, but when he does open them, they simply glance at me with frozen contempt and shut again. His vital signs seem only slightly below the norm, but outwardly it looks as though he trekked across these mountains himself. He mumbles his name and number constantly, and every now and then he'll suddenly jolt and his eyes will widen as they search the room frantically, as if searching for something, or someone. Then he calms down, murmurs more names and numbers, and falls back into a fitful sleep.

I'm positive the washing is working, but I have my doubts on the serum. I'm losing hope again.

I must leave. I'm hungry and tired. I'll report later.

A. Zola


	17. April 20, 1944

**April 20, 1944 – Test Subject Four**

Tenth injection administered.

I'm very sure that serum has failed. The soldier, whose name I learned through his mumbling — Sergeant James Barnes – is half-conscious all the time now, with short bouts of complete shutdown. I've stopped the washing, as it only seems to decrease his functionality. He is unresponsive to any sort of physical beating, and simply gazes past me into the ceiling, with a look that is very dead now.

I suppose I must finish the test, but I am feeling very unenthusiastic.

A. Zola


	18. April 30, 1944

**April 30, 1944**

They've escaped and they're coming. The building is set to blow. I must flee.

A. Zola

 **A/N: There will be three chapters today, because this one is literally one sentence. (Can you tell what's happening?)**


	19. May 1, 1944

**April 30, 1944 – Success**

It worked.

I saw him walk with my own eyes. He kept to the pace of a serum-induced super soldier, and was able to stand with little support after his long stay to a bed.

The serum worked, and he was the result.

The only thing I found disturbing was that he remembered me. I could tell that he could. When his friend was preoccupied with Schmidt, he stared at me, with a mixture of hatred, malice, and disgust that I found both terrifying and rewarding. The washing wasn't as permanent as I had hoped, but the serum hadn't killed him. Which meant one of two things: he had become something like Schmidt, or something like his super-serum friend.

I am trying to get my hands on him again, to truly finish the process and create was I had intended: an assassin like no other.

However, I must be cautious. If he still lives, even after the building blew, I will most likely be a target, and I sure as Schmidt's red face not want to be his victim. I could see in his eyes at the bridge that he wanted revenge for what I had done to him.

And he would not be as merciful as his friend might be.

A. Zola


	20. September 29, 1944

**September 29, 1944 – The Asset**

It is very boring in Sweden.

Thank God for American gossip.

According to every American soldier I passed, our beloved Captain America's dearest friend – Sergeant James Barnes – had fallen to his supposed death from my train, I was at first despondent. My work had survived so much, only to meet death in the most arbitrary fashion.

I had been caught by the Americans, but upon learning that I indeed wanted to live, Colonel Chester Phillips deported me to Sweden to be of assistance to them. Of course, I agreed, but my true intentions remain unknown to them.

I worked, and then one day, news came: Steven Grant Rogers, the famed Captain America, had crashed the _Valkyrie_ into the ocean, but know one knew where. This news stunned me. The Red Skull had been defeated? HYDRA had been vanquished?

So the newspapers said. But they were wrong.

Cut off one head; two more shall take its place. That was my mission; to rebuild HYDRA. But that will come later.

But something interesting happened today.

I had been working in Sweden for a little over a week when a Soviet soldier pounded upon my cabin door. (I was given a comfortable cabin to spend my days in. America is so generous to their enemies.) I answered the door, though not with caution, and the soldier promptly asked about my experimentation with the serum.

This was very disturbing.

I did not plan to tell him anything, but he said the Soviets might have something that I want, and I was intrigued. I told him the simple basics of what I had done (which couldn't hurt me; the Americans knew already,) and of losing my best experiment to the wind of a train. After all, the Soviets were not fast friends with America, and there were plenty previous HYDRA agents that were Soviet.

After mentioning my lost test subject, he seemed to gain interest, and asked me for a description, which I had no trouble giving. Ever since I had last seen my subject, my one success, I had only been able to see his face in all of my work.

The soldier listened to my description, then got up and left, saying nothing but a curt, "I will return."

I scarcely dare to hope what he will return with.

A. Zola

 **A/N: I may or may not add a second part today. This one is longer, so... And there's only one more completed one after this, so maybe I'll drag this out...**


	21. October 1, 1944

**October 1, 1944 – The Asset**

Today I write with renewed vigor, because the impossible has happened! I shall write how it came about, as my busy fingers need something to do while I wait for my food to be finished.

The Soviet soldier returned the day with three other men. He marched through my doorway and stepped aside as his two fellow soldiers trotted in behind him, half carrying, half dragging a figure between them.

I stood with such force the my chair slid a full foot. The Soviet looked at me, and gave a sly smile. He knew that I found what I was looking for.

Sergeant James Barnes was the figure they held up.

I walked toward him like one would approach an injured mutt. His left arm was mangled, torn off just above the elbow, with a bloody bandage wrapped around it. Nothing that couldn't be fixed. He could barely stand, but he looked slightly more muscular than he did when I last saw him, though battered and beaten. I laughed to myself, and said, "Brilliant."

He heard my voice and raised his head. When his eyes met mine he hissed like a caged cat, and immediately his brow creases into a glare of contempt, but in his eyes I saw fear. The hate in them almost blotted it out, but it was there. He was terrified of me.

"You," was all he managed.

I stepped forward and motioned for the soldier to get my honored guest into a better level. They forced him to the his knees with a grunt. He glared at me again, gritting his teeth, but again: I saw fear.

I grasped his hair and looked him over. He growled at me, and uttered curses below his breath.

He seemed to be in fairly good shape for falling off the side of mountain, although he could use a few days in an infirmary. His arm – or at least what was left of it – was, as I said previously, nothing to be concerned of. I could design him something much more useful.

After examining him, I stood back and asked what the Soviets wanted for him. They said €500,000. I agreed. I asked if they could escort him to my secret HYDRA development base, which I and the few HYDRA agents that still lived had put together. They complied, and soon, Sergeant Barnes was in the back of a stealth vehicle, with his legs cuffed together, with a soldier on either side.

His look of defiance had faded, and a desperate expression plagued him. He stared at the floor, but I could see his eyes were wide, and sweat trickled down his face. Even though he had no idea where we were headed, he started shaking as we came to a stop.

I climbed out of the truck and led the way to the secret entrance. The two soldiers dragged SGT. Barnes along, but he began to struggle. He leaned away from the them, trying to wrench his one arm free. They finally gripped the back of his neck and forced him inside like a child.

When we got to the main lab, my fellow escapee scientists stared. The knew about my experiment, and I'm sure that a one armed, bloodied soldier was not what they were expecting. I stared back at them, then said:

"Prepare a room."

They quickly did as I said, and within minutes, a sterile room was arranged.

I gestured to the soldiers, telling them to please strap the subject to the operation table.

They moved in, and suddenly Barnes revolted. He yanked away, stumbling backward with a wild look.

"No," he said, and he looked at me. "No."

The soldiers grabbed him and yanked him toward the table, and his voice rose as he repeated himself. He grew frantic, and elbowed the soldier on his right in the stomach as hard as he could. The soldier went down, and Barnes swung toward the second soldier, hitting him in the nose. The Soviet grunted and fell backward as Barnes backed away. The subject grabbed a scalpel off a nearby surgeon table and held it in front of him. I quickly ducked behind a desk: I did not want to be sliced to bits just before I confirmed my greatest findings. I heard him yelling vicious threats, but his voice was cracking. "I'm not getting back on that table," he rasped.

Then I heard a sharp zip! and a thud.

The others pronounced it clear, and I crawled into view. The subject lay on the floor, a tranquilizer sticking in his neck. The two soldiers had now climbed yo their feet, and looked as angry as injured bears. They hauled him up and slammed him on the table, strapping him down quickly and then huffing to the exit. They gave one last nod to me, and then left.

I breathed a sigh a relief, and then looked at the table where the subject was held. I smiled.

I had work to do.

I leave now, as the first of my improvements is about to be applied.

A. Zola

 **A/N: Okay, Zola is really excited, so he's going to be writing a lot more. (Honestly now that we're into Bucky's life I magically find more to type. I'm weird like that. Bucky feels.) This installment wasn't supposed to be till tomorrow, but this is for BelieveInTheHoundsOfJustice60. ;)**


	22. October 2, 1944

**October 2, 1944 – The Asset**

We have taken the needed measurements for the new appendage. It will be constructed of Grade 2 titanium. I myself am not part of the actual construction of the appendage; I'm overviewing and making sure the plans are followed.

The process should be completely painless. The sergeant was given a peripheral nerve block from his left shoulder down, as well as a sedative to knock him out. He won't feel a thing. I'm not sure how he'll feel afterward, however…

The surgeons are ready. The most important operation of my career is about to take place.

I'm almost giddy.

A. Zola


	23. Octorber 2, 1944 (1300 CETZ)

**October 2, 1944, 1300 CETZ – The Asset**

Things are going smoothly. I think the sedative is wearing off, though. We're almost halfway through. Just the amputation for today.

A. Zola

* * *

 **A/N: I will be adding possibly two more chapters tonight. I haven't updated in about three days (which isn't that bad compared to some of my other stories.) I'm writing all this as we speak, like right now, so don't worry. I GOTCHU FAM. ;)**

 **PS: CETZ stands for Central European Time Zone. That's the time zone used in Sweden. If you don't believe me, ask Google. She knows.**


	24. October 3, 1944

**October 3, 1944 – The Asset**

The amputation is over. It went very well, except for one small moment. He woke up for a time in the middle of amputating the rest of his arm. He didn't do anything; just raised his head, stared and passed back out, thankfully.

We move on to the best part now: replacing his stub with a fully mechanized appendage.

And the washing will begin.

A. Zola

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry I didn't update as much as I said. I fell asleep. It was like 1:00 in the morning.**


	25. October 4, 1944

**October 4, 1944 – The Asset**

We are about halfway through with the procedures. Sergeant Barnes hasn't woken up since his previous awaking. I gave him an extra large dose of the sedative, as I realized it would be harder to put him to sleep with the serum he is equipped with.

The arm looks beautiful. A little bloody and, as I said, unfinished, but beautiful.

I cannot wait until it's finished.

A. Zola


	26. October 5, 1944

**October 5, 1944 – The Asset**

Finally finished the procedure about an hour or two ago. Simply waiting for the sergeant to awaken.

A. Zola


	27. October 5, 1944 (1630 CETZ)

**October 5, 1944 (1630 CETZ) – The Asset**

Well, the soon-to-be Asset is very much alive. Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing he did was grab one of the surgeons by the throat. He looked terrified after looking at his new and improved titainium hand, but made quick use of it. I was forced sedate him again. Before he lost consciousness, he looked me right in the eye. I think we scared each other. But I smiled at him as he fell back.

It's going well, but the washing must begin right away. They're hooking him up to the machine as I write.

A. Zola


	28. October 6, 1944

**October 6, 1944 – The Asset**

The washing is going well, for the most part. Barnes did put up a decent fight, however. I did not think to move him to the machine while he was unconscious; when we _did_ try to move him, he lashed out violently. He killed a man with his fine, new arm. Hit him right in the temple and killed him, on the spot. He had a wild, desperate, angry look in his eye, and as soon as he locked sight on me, he changed course. He was suddenly aiming for me. His hair has grown out a bit, so it fell in his eyes, making him look a deranged, half-machine, half-human monster. I almost fell over myself trying to get away, but someone stabbed him with a sedative needle, thankfully.

In the future, punishment will be dealt out for such behavior, but I think the washing will help get my point across right now.

As the washing process goes on, he will be implanted in a training program to help enhance his skills, and to condition him to the terms that being an assassin requires.

I'm interested to see how he'll take it.

The Asset Program.

A. Zola


	29. October 9, 1944

**October 9, 1944 – The Asset**

The washing is mostly complete. It's been a struggle; I picked Barnes because of his cold killer undertone and surviving nature. His memory has been quite a hassle to erase. He's been resisting the whole time, but he can't block it fully. Now he just remembers enough to make him extremely confused, angry, and desperate. He's constantly asking who he is; what is. Every time he does, I say the same thing: "You are the fist of Hydra. You are the Asset."

I think I'm getting it into him.

Slowly.

A. Zola

* * *

 **A/N: Hanging my head in shame right now... I'm so lazy... But hey, it's spring break. I don't want to breathe, much less write. Sorry!**


	30. October 14, 1944

**October 14, 1944 – The Asset**

Washing completed. Finally.

He put up a heck of a fight toward the end, but his mind gave in. He is officially, in his own mind, a nameless, faceless being with no purpose at all. He knows everything he needs to know to live, basic knowledge and skills, but he remembers nothing about who he was, who he used to know, and who he fought for. He doesn't even know he fought at all.

And now it's my job to give him purpose.

A. Zola


	31. October 16, 1944

**October 16, 1944 – The Asset**

Today I took the Asset his trainer, a man named Eno Tedrick.

Eno Tedrick is a renowned ex-assassin. He worked for the Nazis until he found out about HYDRA, then changed sides for reasons that no one really knows. He became a legend in the ranks of HYDRA; it was even rumored that he shot Adolf Hitler himself. (We know it isn't true, but that's the myth.)

Anyway, I walked into the Asset's chamber, where we had placed him after the washing had been completed. (I had a guard with me; we had seen what the Asset could do before, even drugged and confused. I wasn't taking chances now.) He was awake, sitting on the floor in the corner furthest from the door, with his metal arm curled against his stomach, knees up. (Probably unused to the cold metal.) His head was rested against the metal wall, and he was staring off into some empty world that I couldn't see. He didn't stir when I entered, nor when I cleared my throat.

Finally I took a step in and spoke. "Asset."

He jerked slightly and looked at me. His eyes, that had been so cold and icily vibrant, were dull and almost grey. He stared at me.

"Who am I?" I asked him.

He opened his mouth to answer, then:

"You're Zola. Arnim Zola."

I nodded. "Who else?"

He shut his eyes and turned away, grabbing his head in his hands. When his metal arm touch his head he flinched, just a mite, and stared at his hand. He didn't answer me.

"Who else am I?" I asked again.

"I don't know," he said flatly, with a hint of annoyance, still not looking at me. "Who else are you?"

"No," I said. "You don't ask the questions. I do. We do. Your handlers do. You simply answer."

"But how am I suppose to-?"

"No. Stop."

He looked flustered. "Handlers? What does that-?"

"Stop."

"I don't even know who I am!"

"Yes, you do."

"I don't!" He gripped his head again. "I can feel the name there, bug I can't-!"

"You don't have a name," I said. I almost felt cruel, saying that, but subjugation and compliance required more than a memory wipe and a few orders. "You have a title."

"How can I not have a name?"

"Stop asking questions!" I said loudly. "That isn't your job!"

"What is my job?" he asked wildly, his voice rising. He didn't understand the no-question basis very well. I nodded to the guard, who stepped forward and backhanded the Asset smartly across the face, who jolted away, glaring up the guard. Then he kicked the guard in the shin; the guard winced, then smacked him again. He quieted, still looking angrily at the guard, and at me.

"Now, what have we learned?"

He rubbed his cheek, then growled: "No questions."

"Good. Now get up. It's time you knew where you'll be training."

"Train-?" He stopped and rephrased. "I didn't know I would be being trained."

"Of course, I said. "Every assassin needs training to be a good assassin."

We left the chamber.

"Oh, and to answer the question I asked you earlier," I said. "I am also your commander. You follow my orders now, and anyone's that I ask you. Understood?"

He glared at me and clenched his fists.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 **A/N: Again, I apologize. Updates might be faster now. School's up tomorrow, so maybe I'll get bored during history and get some cool ideas.**

 **Now, let's get one thing straight: Eno Tedrick is a man of my own creation. I made him up specifically for these purposes, as I couldn't find a name from any Marvel Wiki. It just said Bucky was trained by HYDRA. So yeah, new dude. He's mine. :)**

 **Eno Tedrick © Renata Barnez 2016 (this isn't legit but whatever)**


	32. October 17, 1944

**A/N: I am so very, very sorry. I am a horrible updater. I lost traction in this story, and I didn't know where to go. This is the last installment in this diary, however. I will eventually write a second diary, but written by Tedrick, which will describe the training of the Asset. (Poor Bucky.) Please don't hate me. :)**

* * *

 **October 17, 1944 – The Asset**

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Watching the beginning of the Asset's training has been quite interesting. I could never train someone the way Tedrick does, or any way at all. He's strict, but he way he looks at his work makes you think he's looking at one of his own children. But he is a very strict father, as I said, and disobedience is justly punished. I will not write what I saw; I'm not a good fighter, and there isn't much that I saw that I could translate into words. (I will leave that writing to Tedrick.)

The first meeting of master and learner was tense, at least on the learners side. The Asset looked ready to rip Tedrick's arms off and use them to beat him.

Tedrick took the Asset's metal hand and shook it tersely. The soon-to-be assassin complied, politely (even the washing couldn't erase his high Brooklyn manners), then tried to withdraw his arm. Tedrick gripped his fingers tight, halting his movements, lifting them to eye level. He examined them closely, manually curling and uncurling each finger. The Asset took a step back and looked at me, eyes glinting with confusion and fear. I gestured to just stand still. He scowled, turned back to Tedrick, who was running a fingernail in a joint groove, and yanked his arm away. As soon as he was two paces away, his body jolted and he yelped. He grabbed at his arm and glared at us. Tedrick grinned and held up a small remote with two buttons on it.

"Implanted an electroshock chip while you weren't looking," he simpered. "You'll have to be more careful, especially out there."

Tedrick shoot my hand gratefully while the Asset growled at us. "Thank you for such an interesting project. I'll get him in shape in no time."

"I have no doubts," I said. "Be careful with him."

"Of course. Now! Asset, come with me."

"Where to? OW!"

"No questions."

I will not write down what the Asset said in reply as I left the room. I smiled. The Asset was under construction. This will be the last time I will see him for a while. Next time we meet, he will be a fully trained killer. A killer for HYDRA.

I look forward to that day.

A. Zola

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 _To be continued... Maybe..._

* * *

 **A/N: please let me know if you guys actually want a second series by Tedrick, gang way I can plan it better. Thank you! I really want to do it, but I have some other, more immediate ideas that demand my attention. Thanks again for all the lovely and supportive reviews! I apologize for all the feels! :)**

 **IamMeWhoAreYou14**


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